A Bloody Quest
Rukongai It was a fine night, the bright full moon shining down, unobstructed by clouds. The moonlight however, did little to enhance the bleakness of the outskirts of Rukongai. If anything, it made it look worse. The dried bloodstains evidence of past arrancars clashes, the scrawled graffiti, and the decrepit buildings, all in clear sight. Ichiken felt right at home. Walking through this area of Rukongai at night was potentially a painful way to commit suicide, as the narrancars gangs regularly patrolled their turf, killing all intruders. That was fine by Ichiken, he wanted someone to attack him. After all he did need an excuse for killing hordes of arrancars, He whistled a little tune as he swaggered down the street. Most arrancars steered well clear of him. His reputation from his days of hollow hunting were still fresh in their minds. It was getting harder and harder to get arrancar members to initiate a fight. “It might be good to switch areas for a month or so.” Ichiken thought pensively. “The amount of people in the streets had drastically decreased as most were to frightened to leave their abodes. “damn it this has become a ghost town.” He turned down an alley, emerging in front of a large building. This was the local haunt of this region’s largest group of arrancars, Las mascaras Rojas. Las mascaras Rojas were mainly recruited from the of Arrancar who invaded Rukongai years ago. They wore masks, painted a dark red.. Ichiken loved fighting arrancars, they took a lot of punishment before they went down. He knew he would have little trouble in getting this loony lot to fight him. He walked up to the entrance, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the foul odour of the two door guards. Before any of the guards could voice a challenge, Ichiken stepped forward, his sword flashing out of the sheath in a standard '''Tsuki no Genjin Ryuu '''draw and strike. It inscribed a wide arc throught the air, pausing only slightly to remove the heads of the guards. His sword was already back in the scabbard by the time they hit the ground. There were around 50 odd Mascaras Rojas in the building, slouching in chairs or zoned out on the ground. Ichiken walked in, carrying the two heads of the guards. He tossed them casually, the Mascaras Rojas breaking as they came into contact with the floor. Bloodshot eyes turned to Ichiken, and as one all the Mascaras Rojas stood up. The Mascaras Rojas were all armed with a three hooked blades attached to a gauntlet, reminiscent of the claws of the Hollows. Ichiken walked into the middle of them, and they slowly surrounded him, hungry eyes peering out at him through the eyeholes of their masks. Ichiken grinned gleefully as he fell into the '''Tsuki no Genjin Ryuu '''battle stance. “This is gonna be a good night.” A series of incoherent battle cries issued from the mouths of the assembled Mascaras Rojas, as they charged. Their target, the lone figure of Harukawa Ichiken. The angry induced frenzy they were in blinded them of any tactics, as they pushed amongst themselves to face the Young Zanpakuto Wielder. Ichiken’s sword blurred out of the sheath, slicing through the unprotected flesh of the Group members. He swayed aside as a particularly reckless Mascaras Rojas took a slash at him with a claed gauntlet, rewarding him with a thrust to the stomach. Ichiken eyes lit up with a savage light. He didn’t care if he had to fight the entire gang, no, he wanted to fight the whole gang, he wanted to dance the thin red line between victory and defeat. A group of Mascaras Rojas headed towards him, breaking away form the crush of heaving bodies, claws swiping out at him. Ichiken leapt forward, the blade of his sword all but disappearing as he cut. Ichiken was already seeking out another opponent as the severed jugular veins of his victims spurted out a great gout of blood. Ichiken grinned widely, the familiar rush of battle filling him. As the Mascaras Rojas closed in on all sides, Ichiken slipped into the Stance of the Tide, sword held out in front of his eyes. He closed his eyes and uttered the time hounoured words the style reflected so perfectly. I am Moon. I am a elusive Bright Light I am a raging Eclipse I am uncatchable, untouchable I am a devastating Dragon. The Mascaras rojas futilely tried to wound Ichiken as he twisted, swayed and parried their every attempt. He was the embodiement of the light, slipping through the grasp of the Mascaras Rojas, returning every attempt with a fluid counterattack. Blood flew through the air, coating Ichiken from head to toe. He began to laugh, an alien sound amidst the pained cries of the Mascaras Rojas. They backed away from the crazed warrior. Seemlessly, Ichiken flew into the Stance of the Wind, his every motion like quicksilver, the blade of the sword not even collecting the blood of the downed men, it was so fast. Lightning quick strikes robbing men of their life, until only a dozen remained. Only the strongest opponents were left. As the angry were wearing off, they still boosted the physical abilities of the gang member’s but allowed coherent thought. They encircled him, each attacking in turn, giving him no rest. Their attacks were deadlier, faster, leaving Ichiken only one choice. He ducked and weaved, his life depending on it. Then suddenly the tempo of the battle changed once again, one of the Mascaras Rojas over extending, finally allowing Ichiken to exploit the opening. He spun around the man, severing his spinal cord and simeutaneously using the momentum to slam a spinning heel kick into the neck of another. There was a sickening crack as the arrancar’s head turned where it shouldn’t. Ichiken turned, just in time to parry a downward slice, throwing the mascaras rojas back to his comrades. Ichiken gave them no time to recover and crashed into their midst, cutting and cutting, his soul rejoicing at the blood spilt. The final Mascaras Roja fell back, his throat split open, struggling to breathe through a mouthful of blood. His cracked mask fell to the ground, and he beheld the monster who had killed all of his group members. Terror filled him. As he breathed his last, he could’ve sworn that the cold green eyes of his killer flashed red for a moment. Ichiken sheathed his blade, his green eyes dancing, still riding on the adrenaline rush he always got from killing hollows. His clothes was spattered liberally with blood, but Ichiken didn’t mind. As he walked out of building now devoid of any life, he detected a strong spirit pressure nearby.